


Alone

by Kittenbedtimestories



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Inside Y/N's Head, Thoughts During Episode 4, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenbedtimestories/pseuds/Kittenbedtimestories
Summary: A look inside Y/N's head as they wake up during the final episode.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 9





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on likepuppetsonastring.tumblr.com]

The first thing he noticed was that he was in a tremendous amount of pain. His chest was on fire and his head was pounding, it was like every muscle in his body was rebelling against him. His eyes were the only thing that seemed to be working, and all he could see was the domed ceiling and the chandelier above him, oddly tinted and out of focus.

As it came back into focus, he noticed a second problem: he didn’t know who or where he was. Through the blinding pain, there was no name coming, no picture of what he looked like, no friends or family’s faces or names, no fond memories…no memories at all. Just a vague feeling of…dread? Or anger?

He grunted as his arms and legs finally decided to work for him to lift him up, so that he was panting and kneeling on the marble floor. Shaking his head, he looked up, finally trying to guess where he was. His eyes locked with someone else’s.

He was starting backwards, a voice in his head screaming “MURDERER” before he had a chance to think for himself. The other man was on his feet in an instant.

“Oh no, no! It’s okay!”

Colonel. The old title came to him as the man talked about thinking he was dead. Had he been dead? The thought distracted him for a moment so that he lost some of what the man was saying. Surely he wasn’t dead, he was thinking, he was here…and yet…why could he see the Colonel, in front of him, a gun smoking in his right hand? Why could he see two hands…his hands…rising to his eyes, covered in blood? He could almost hear a voice, the Colonel’s panicked voice, saying…

“Did Damien put you up to this?” The name was like a bucket of ice water over his back. He knew it, and he’d been known by it. But…that wasn’t right, was it? Why hadn’t the man recognized him then if he was this “Damien” he seemed to know well? He wanted to ask, but the Colonel wasn’t listening anymore, and he couldn’t seem to make his voice work anyway. As the Colonel wandered away from him, calling for someone to answer, Damien again, and someone called Celine, names he barely knew but felt like he had always known, his heart gave a funny pang. He almost went after the strange officer, going so far as to take a step toward him, mouth forming a name he didn’t remember, but his eyes were drawn to the silver and black cane the Colonel had put down on the table. As he picked it up, another shot of pain went through him, and he looked up.

The face in the mirror before him…wasn’t him. It might once have been, he wasn’t sure, but now…it was different. Hollow, and gaunt…monochrome…

Dark.

He scowled at the face, and it scowled back. More pain stabbed through his neck, and he twisted it to try and alleviate it. There was a loud crack, and when he looked back in the mirror, straightening himself out, he knew he hated that face. But it wasn’t his face, it was the face of a man who had once worn it that he hated, who’d forced him into it now. Vague memories that didn’t make any sense swirled in his head, and they didn’t seem to matter anymore, except for being the cause of the heavy, burning anger that seemed to be all he could feel, the piercing ring that stuck in his ears. There was only one thought in his head as he turned away from the mirror with a jerk and went to clean himself up and get to work:

Mark would pay.


End file.
